


A Long Way Down

by suckitdomitian



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avenger Loki, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suckitdomitian/pseuds/suckitdomitian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’d fallen, swiftly and fluidly, through all the rips in the realm that had been created through the destruction of the Bifrost. He’d fallen in a way that had left him doubting he would ever stop, his vision reaching out around him forever as he struggled to control his descent, to find some foothold to latch onto, some path to steer himself towards so that his plummet would not be endless. Whether it had taken him hours, days, months, or years had been impossible to say in the limitless expanses which had surrounded him, but when he finally landed, with a sharp and graceless crash, upon Midgardian soil, he had never been so relieved in his life to be somewhere so bland.</i>
</p><p>In which Loki finds himself on Midgard, damaged, drained, and with no place to go, and Clint Barton has a habit of taking in helpless looking strays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He’d fallen, swiftly and fluidly, through all the rips in the realm that had been created through the destruction of the Bifrost. He’d fallen in a way that had left him doubting he would ever stop, his vision reaching out around him forever as he struggled to control his descent, to find some foothold to latch onto, some path to steer himself towards so that his plummet would not be endless. Whether it had taken him hours, days, months, or years had been impossible to say in the limitless expanses which had surrounded him, but when he finally landed, with a sharp and graceless crash, upon Midgardian soil, he had never been so relieved in his life to be somewhere so bland.

  
It was far from the desert plains where Thor had been banished, and Loki was thankful for the trusty shade of thick evergreen boughs as he conjured the spells to conceal him from Heimdall’s sight. He’d allowed himself to fall for a reason, and even with the Bifrost broken, Loki was certain, should he be discovered, that the Allfather would most assuredly send his eldest to collect him whatever dark magics he had to conjure to do so. He would rather at least a moment of solitude before his life was forfeit to assuage the tempers of Jotunheim.

* * *

  
“We’ve got another energy spike,” the agent sitting at the computer console raised a hand to his ear to make sure his communicator was broadcasting base wide, frowning at the readings that were being thrown at him about the flash of an energy signature that it had picked up. “Stronger than the last but less stable.”

  
Agent Hill leaned on the back of his chair, eyes narrowing at the data, “It’s still the same source. Barton, Coulson, we’ve got company again.”

* * *

  
“So, tell me again whose idea this was,” Clint Barton said, casting a sidelong gaze at Phil Coulson. Clint had tried to get him to change before they had left, but Phil was most at home in a suit so even though it went against every basic rule of braving the great outdoors, he was dressed from head to toe in basic black on white. There were some times when Clint just had to wonder if Phil was actually a plant from MIB to keep tabs on SHIELD in situations like this. “Because, no offense, but if this actually is another alien god from the sky come down for whatever reason, I doubt we’re going to subdue him with paperwork.”

  
“Fury wants you back in one piece,” Coulson replied without raising to the bait. He was well used to Barton’s jabs by now, and to be perfectly honest, that one had fallen a little short. The man must have been tried from walking all morning. “He thinks I’m the best person to make sure that happens. And Form 92-JZK in triplicate would make anyone cry.”

  
“You just made that up. Those are random numbers and letters stuck together without any meaning,” Clint huffed, pausing on the trail as he cast a quick glance out into the wood. They were getting close to where the energy signature had been picked up, hundreds of miles from the one before, and fanned out over nearly 200 square acres of forest. If there was something out here, it was going to take a lot more than rough coordinates to figure out what. “I’m going to see we’re missing down here,” Clint said, turning and handing Coulson his pack before taking a few steps into the forest.

  
It didn’t take him long to find a tree that was suitable. Pines were too flimsy to climb, birch little more than kindling, and elm trees never offered the proper number of footholds to get started, but a nice solid oak, probably older than him by centuries, provided everything he needed to get a good vantage. It was the glow that caught his eye at first. It was a deep, unnatural green reflected off the edge of the creek. It rippled like fire against the backdrop of the water despite the fact that nothing that Clint could think of burned that color. Unnerving and yet transfixing at the same time, it took Clint a moment to realize that he’d been holding his breath at the sight, as if he were waiting for it to lash out in some manner that he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

  
Climbing down and heading back to here he’d left Coulson, Clint grabbed his pack, digging out the maps that they’d been given of the area back at the ranger’s station, “There’s something out there. We’ve just got to find a way to get to it.”

  
“Something?”

  
“Or someone,” Clint said, lifting his gaze up to Coulson’s with a grin dancing on his lips. “Come on, Phil. Relax. I’m going to get you back in one piece, too.”

* * *

  
The wind bit into Loki as he huddled over the small fire that he’d conjured. The small magic, something that he had mastered as a child, had still left him feeling drained after his lengthy fall. His abilities were weaker on Midgard than they were in the realm of the gods, weaker still for the taxation of his journey, and with each breeze that had bit into his skin before conjuring the fire, a light tint of blue had crept into his skin. It had been enough to make Loki cringe. In the end, exhaustion and warmth had been preferable to strength and reality.

  
The creek he had located in the midst of the woods had recovered him from the worst of his dehydration. And while his hunting skills had never been on par with those of his comrades, he had still managed to lure and trap two rabbits from the brush earlier in the day. Skinning them had been a chore. His throwing knives were not made for the delicate cuts necessary in skinning an animal, but he had managed it all the same. The magic fire left an odd flavor in the flesh, he found, but any food was better than none, and he was thankful for the fact that he had had the sense enough to eat as, by the time he’d finished his meal, it was evident that he was no longer alone.

  
It was impossible to tell at first whether those approaching were there for him or merely stumbling upon the clearing as he had. It was a strain to make out their steps through the din of nature all around him, but it didn't take Loki long to decide that they were moving too quietly to be hikers, with too much purpose to be campers, and with too much precision to be tourists. The only conclusion that he could ultimately draw was that his concealment spell had failed. The Allfather had sent someone to retrieve him. Hogun, most likely, from the near ghost like essence of the approach. Though, straining a moment longer, Loki could hear a second set of approaching footfalls. Hogun and Sif, then, for neither Fandral or Volstagg could move so silently, and Thor would see no need in doing so.

  
Battle stance taken and throwing knife readied, Loki prepared himself for his potential captors, here no doubt to escort him back to Asgard for a swift execution. The second the approaching party broke the overgrowth, Loki let loose the blade, watching as it soared from his hand towards his now revealed targets.

  
What Loki hadn't been expecting, however, was for the knife to be knocked from its path a second later. The sharp whistle of an arrow soaring through the air just past his ear and embedding itself in a tree behind him with a loud thunk as he watched his blade spin, lingering in the air just long enough to catch a glint of the moonlight, before landing gracefully at his feet and embedding its lethal tip into the ground mere centimeters from the toe of his boot.

  
"It's really not polite to chuck sharp, pointy objects at people who just wanna say hi. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

  
"Yes, and she also taught me that it is impolite to ambush someone unless you have the intention of slitting their throat. A lesson yours seems to have neglected," Loki snapped back, scowling at the strangers who were definitely not Hogun and Sif, the two strangers who were, in fact, both male and not exactly strangers to begin with. They had both been present in New Mexico during Thor's banishment. The man dressed utterly inappropriately for a trek in the woods being the man in charge while the archer at his side had made his position as the other's right hand man rather obvious in their interactions. Loki remembered being distinctly impressed by both of them in what little he had witnessed, but that didn't explain their presence _here_. Of course, it occurred a moment later, that they may have come here for him in the same way that they had came for Mjölnir. Perhaps in their mind, anything which crashes into their soil is theirs for the keeping. "What do you want?"

  
"What? Are you deaf?" The archer said, the roll of his eyes evident even in the dark as he repositioned his bow across his back. "I said we just wanted to talk. We picked up your arrival. Just call us Team Meet and Greet. I'm Meet. This is Greet," the archer drawled, pointing to his less than amused companion.

  
"Coulson," the companion interjected, sparing a brief glance between the archer and Loki, himself, before his gaze turned to settle upon the brilliantly glowing fire, a question looming in his eyes that seemed as though it wasn't going to leave his mind. Frowning at the sight, at someone so unwilling to ask what seemed the most obvious question to be plaguing a mundane Midgardian in this moment, Loki moved to try and pluck the question from the man's mind to answer it without being addressed only to be overcome by lightheadedness at the effort. He should have known better. He should have, but he was so used to doing without thinking, practicing his magic without having to have regard for his state or the area around him. Staggering, a hand out to try and brace the inevitable fall, Loki was more than stunned when it never came, two firm arms, seemingly with the comforting strength of an Asgardian in that moment, braced against him to keep him from tumbling sideways instead.

  
"Whoa there, David Copperfield. Whatever you're trying looks like it's going to have to wait."

  
Loki's gut reaction was to try and shove the archer off, deny that he needed any help, try and find some way to separate himself from the pair of them, but his mind kicked in before his instincts could and the only thing it had to say was, 'By Odin Allfather, stop being such a child.' Sagging quietly into the archer's grip, quietly allowing himself to be settled back into the seat that he had vacated when he had noticed their presence, Loki shifted to huddle himself back closer to the fire as the archer settled a disquietly reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  
"Why don't you start at the beginning?"


	2. Chapter 2

"No. Barton, I said no!" Nick Fury's voice seemed to practically vibrate the comms whenever he was angry enough, and Clint had gotten well used to holding it a safe distance from his ear when making controversial requests just to make sure his ear drums remained intact. "Loki Odinson is a classification 6-Alpha-6: highly dangerous and highly unstable. You are not, and I quote, 'keeping him'. Am I making myself clear?"

  
Anymore clear, and Clint was going to need a hearing aid, "But, _Bosssss_ ," because if asking nicely didn't work, whining was sure going to. "You let me keep Tasha, and she's a lot scarier than this guy. I mean, you should see him. Six feet tall, sure, but he can't be more than 90 pounds soaking wet, and complexion wise, he looks like a cross between Edward Cullen and a mime right about now. A drowned cat would be more threatening than this guy."

  
"I let you 'keep' Agent Romanoff because she was an asset to the agency, and need I remind you, she never leveled an entire town in New Mexico." All right. It sounded like the whining had just made it worse. There was a delicate dance involved in dealing with Fury when he was, well, living up to his name, but luckily enough, Clint had more than enough experience to be able to dosey doe without missing any steps.

  
"We don't know that he did that on purpose. For all we know he didn't mean to blow the town up," Intentions were always a good thing to play on. It had been something which had helped him get a lot of fellow agents out of the hot seat when they had seriously screwed up. It was enough, sometimes, to take a reaming from him and from Coulson that adding a lengthy lecture in front of Fury to all of that just was asking way, way too much of kids who had made honest mistakes, mistakes any rookie would make during their first rodeo. Unfortunately, it seemed that it had slipped Clint's mind that he hadn't quite won this argument yet, and Loki hardly counted in the realm of fellow agent.

  
"...he didn't mean to. He didn't mean to?" If it was even possible, Fury's voice had gotten both louder and higher in pitch. Any further, and he was going to be shattering all the glass in the helicarrier. "The town was still blown up, Barton! His hand, his order, his Destroyer, his mess!"

  
Yeah. That probably wasn't the best way to spin that. Maybe if he played on loyalty. Or, no, better idea. Legality. Smirking slightly to himself and ignoring the rather exasperated look Coulson was flashing him from where he sat huddled next to the rather deflated looking demi-god, Clint pushed forward, every word of his next statement dripping with formality, "But, sir, you trusted my judgment with Tasha. How is this any different? I'm telling you, he'll be more useful on our side than locked up in some cell in the middle of the desert for no reason. Besides, I'm pretty sure if you do try that, it'll count as unlawful detention. Diplomatic immunity and all."

It was obvious from the sudden silence on the other end of the line that Clint had him stumped. The archer was mid fistpump when he nearly dropped the comm link from the volume of Fury's voice rocketing through it, "Diplomatic WHAT? HE'S NOT A FUCKING FOREIGN DIGNITARY, BARTON! DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY DOESN'T APPLY!"

The voice was enough to bring Coulson to his feet even as Clint caught the comm before it could hit the ground. God bless his reflexes. Coulson was more than used to stepping in when Clint couldn't handle the situation. A few firm words from Phil, and Director Fury almost always caved, no matter what the request was, but Clint was smart enough to realize Coulson thought this was a bad idea. No, not just that. Coulson thought this was a horrible idea. They had both been in New Mexico. They both knew the sort of devastation that had been wraught in the Destroyer's path. But Barton was more than certain that Phil wasn't about to be as forgive and forget as he was willing to, faced with a poor pathetic puppy of a Norse God or not. If he was going to close this deal, he was going to have to close it by himself. "Forgive me, sir," Clint said, pausing as he reaffixed the comm to his ear, quietly praying that Fury was done yelling with that last Earth shattering bout. "I'm not as up on my Norse mythology as I could be, but as the son of Odin, I'm pretty that makes our visitor a prince. Shouldn't we be treating him that way?"

There was a slight sound from Loki, one that drew Clint's attention, but the god of mischief had swiftly looked away. Whatever that noise was, it was rather clear he didn't want to elaborate on it. 

"And really, sir," Clint said, barreling forward without giving Director Fury time to respond, "you're going to end up saying yes anyway. Because you know I'm right. Deep down in the depths of that warm fuzzy part you hide behind your eyepatch, you know that my instincts are always spot on, and if you pass up this opportunity just because of what you should do, you'll be passing up on solid potential. I mean, where else are we going to find a god, for Christ's sake? I was right about Widow. I'm right about this guy. And if I'm wrong...well...you can hold me personally responsible. That's how sure I am," He paused, then grinned to himself. He was so going to get a dressing down for this when he got back, but really, there was no resisting it when the puppy comparison was just this clear. "Please, dad? I promise to feed him and water him and take him for walks! And I won't let him chew on the furniture. Please?"

There was a grumble as a response. Grumbling usually mean that Fury had given up, that he'd decided it wasn't worth the fight anymore, and when the grumbling was punctuated by a sigh, Clint allowed himself the liberty to indulge in a double fistpump. "Fine, Barton. Fine. On one condition."

"And what's that, big poppa?"

"That you never call me dad or any equivalent ever again."

Clint barely bit back a laugh in time, "Yes, Director Fury, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

Agent Coulson had insisted upon seeing where he had landed before they left. It had taken longer to get back to the cracked branches of the evergreens than it had taken for him to get away from them as tracing his path backwards from marks in the thick bark of trees was much more taxing than heading towards the sound of rushing water, but they had made it in less than an hour. Coulson had been disappointed at the lack of markings, and while Loki had attempted to explain that the severing of the Bifrost had left his fall unguided in the same way as the arrivals of Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three had been, Coulson had still called in a team to contain and examine the scene anyway.

From there, they had trekked the rest of the way back down the forest path to the entrance, and Loki had done his best to ignore the awkward glances that he received from the families milling about. The children were less cautious about their curiosity, openingly staring and demanding their parents explain why he was out in clothes like that. There were a few mutterings that Loki didn't understand, things about 'roleplayers' and 'renn faire freaks', but he was bungled into the vehicle by Barton before he could move to confront the offending individuals.

"Don't mind them. The Suburban crowd never appreciates the leather and metal look," Clint said with a dismissive air as he closed the door to the rear compartment of the car, sliding into the seat behind the rigging that appeared to control the vehicle while Coulson took the seat beside.

The trip back had started out as a nervewrecking mess. With Agent Coulson glancing back at him every ten minutes and the confines of the vehicle making him feel claustrophobic, Loki had felt as though he was going to burst out of his skin the entire first hour from the utter anxiety running through his system. A heavy silence had descended upon the vehicle the second that they had pulled away from the parking lot and had lingered for so long that Loki couldn't help but jump when Barton finally decided to break it.

"You can ask, you know."

It was an odd set of words to start a conversation with, the sort of lead in that seemed to imply the man at the wheel had some idea of what was on his mind, what had been on his mind since Barton had insisted he explain the situation rather than just reacting. But since Loki was absolutely certain that Barton could have little to no knowledge of the doubts that had taken root in his thoughts, he didn't see any reason in giving him the satisfication of hearing the question that was demanding to be answered.

"I have nothing to say."

"Of course you do, stretch," Barton shot back a second later, the foreign familiarity in the tone provoking an exasperated expression from Loki. "There's no sense in trying to play it off. It's just you, me, and the snoozing lump here. No one worth hiding anything from."

The briefest of confusions flickered across Loki's features until he realized exactly why Barton had chosen that moment to speak up. It hadn't been because he'd finally tired of the silence or because something in Loki's expression had pressed him to do so. It was because, for as long as they had been driving, Coulson was finally out of the position of judgement that he had placed himself in, the frequent inspections having ceased without Loki realizing it, once he'd passed out.

"Why?" It was the simplest breakdown of the things going on in his mind, the most direct and most complete version of the question that he could ask, and Loki stared at the front of the vehicle, his eyes moving from the night time road to the man driving, as he waited for some sort of answer.

"It's your look," Barton answered, eyes drifting up towards the mirror to glance back at Loki. "I've seen it before, far too often. And there's only ever one reason for someone to have the look about them that you do. You've lost everything that could possibly matter to you. You're broken, just one step away from frenzied, and the last thing we need to be doing is tossing you somewhere and throwing away the key. You need support, not locking up."

"You intend to fix me?" Loki spat. He was torn, struggling between appreciation and insult, as he stared at Barton, eyes narrowing as he searched what he could see of the man's face for some hint of deception or insincerity. He found none. "Is that it, Barton?"

"Not in the slightest," Clint shot back with a certain ease in his reply, shooting a smirk back at Loki as he glanced into the rear view mirror once again. "You're the magician here. Not me." Barton's grip tightened on the steering wheel as his eyes locked back on the road before he took a deep breath, "Besides, you're probably not as broken as you think you are. I know it hurts. It probably feels like your entire world has fallen out from under you, that you're never going to find your way back to a place where you could be all right again, and there's no point in trying to push on. But you're just defeating yourself before you even have a chance if you allow yourself to think like that. There's always something, no matter how bad it is, worth pushing through for."

Tension had risen in his shoulders and arms, every muscle in his body having gone taut as he was speaking, his eyes no having shifted an centimeter off of the fixed point that he had picked out on the road. It was almost as thought he had made a conscious effort not to look at anyone just to get through what he'd said. Loki was cautious in his movement, shifting fluidly to try not to startle the archer, as he reached out and settled his hands lightly on the man's shoulders. The car jerked as Clint's arms spasmed at the contact, leaving the road for a matter of seconds before he was able to pull the vehicle back under control, causing Coulson to sit up with a start, his gaze whirling on Loki as if the sudden yet brief absence of road had been his doing. Which, to be entirely fair, it was but hardly in the way which Loki assumed he assumed it was.

"Phil, relax," Clint said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "If he tries to take my head off with his magical juju, we're going to do more than swerve. Back to sleep, boss. I've still got another two hours on my shift, and I intend on making you take yours when we get to it whether you're rested or not."

Skepticism and suspicion were written all over Coulson's features as he turned to look at Loki, his eyes tracing the hands on Clint's shoulders back to their owner and giving the Norse god a look that sent a flicker of worry through his veins. Harmless would have been the word Loki'd use to describe Coulson's general appearance, but there was something in the agent's eyes that set him on edge. Though, that wasn't nearly as unnerving as the way the man wordlessly turned away from both of them and was back to sleep in a matter of seconds. How was that even possible?

"If you don't figure out how to sleep wherever you fall within a matter of seconds, you don't get to sleep most of the time," Clint said. Either the archer was a mindreader as well, or it was something that struck a lot of people as odd. "Do you mind?"

The question caught Loki offguard, having utterly forgotten that his hands were still on the archer's shoulders, but he drew them back without comment and watched in curiosity as the tension drained out of Barton, the anxiety from his words seemingly having been replaced by anxiety from someone invading his space. It was a curious reaction, and not one Loki particularly expected from an individual of such obvious physical strength. It was the weak who shyed away from such contact; those who had no means to defend themselves against any potential assault who were so cautious with how close they allowed themselves to others. Barton was neither of these things from what the God had seen, and yet...

"Something on your mind?"

Loki lifted his gaze at the question, not having realized just how pensive he had begun to appear. "Merely considering our respective positions. I should be the one recoiling at your touch, not the other way round."

What was humorous in that statement, Loki did not know, but Barton's reaction was certainly one of amusement. His laughter was quiet, reserved, seemingly in consideration of both Loki's confusion and the slumbering agent, but it was still more than evident to his hearing. "Who's the god here again? Because I'm pretty sure it's not me, slim. You could probably snap my neck before I even had time to react."

He had a point. Loki had not taken the pause to consider the relative intensity of his own strength in regards to Midgard. Humans, he knew all too well, were fragile creatures. Ingenuitive, adaptable, resourceful, but still delicate enough that Loki would be able to break bone without much effort on his part at all. Just because he had no desire to do so hardly meant Barton was relieved of all reason to be wary. After all, Loki was the God of Chaos and Mischief; changing his mind was well within his prerogative. Shifting back against the seat, arms folding across his chest, Loki still couldn't help but turn the idea over in his mind. While he was more than capable of such an act and had no specific reservations when it came to possibly doing the archer harm should it become necessary, Loki had also sent far too much time and energy lashing out as of late. He was tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and he had no care to deal with the fallout of such an action. Beyond that, the archer had not only shown Loki the first kindnesses he had received in a long time that were untainted by lies or expectations, but he also had managed to keep him out of the sort of custody that he would have been placed in should he have been met by any other agent. Loki was certain that no one who had been present in New Mexico would be able to look at him without the sort of suspicion and disgust that he saw in Coulson's gaze. Yet, he was well aware that Barton had been present, that he had not only witnessed everything but had likely been directly in the path of the Destroyer at one point, but Loki saw none of the malice he expected, and it confused him.

"I could," Loki voiced, abating the silence that had fallen between them. "But I think I would rather not."

"Good to know, stretch. Good to know," Clint responded, the words mixed in with laughter. Normally such a sound would have made Loki cringe, pricked at his desire to lash out, but for once in his life, the sound didn't cut. Even his brother's good natured ribbing, which he had always been intellectually aware had been little more than that despite his feelings, had scored at the heart of him, searing him with deep wounds he hadn't even fully recognized or acknowledged until the truth had shed a whole new light upon his existence. But all he felt at the moment was a warm fatigue and a desire to sleep, his curiosity in the man behind the wheel at least somewhat satisfied. Loki might not understood, but what he did get was that there was far more to this than he had been given. Barton kept his cards close to his vest, but Loki was as much as master at getting individuals to reveal themselves as he was concealing himself. He was certain that given the proper time and methods of coaxing, he could get the full story, but for now...

"Sleep. We've still got a good five hours before we get anywhere near the base," Barton said, his gaze shifting up to the rearview mirror for the briefest of moments before turning back to the road. "And considering Fury's going to want to talk to you the second we get there, it'll probably be better if you're not exhausted."

Loki didn't need more than one suggestion. His eyes had already started to close before Clint had even completed his sentence, chin dropping to his chest as he settled into sleep, quietly grateful for the fact that no nightmares seemed to come. He didn't think such a thing would last, but for the moment, it was a relief.


End file.
